Tiffany was a stark contrast to our stunningly vain co-worker, Charles. She carried a few extra pounds around her hips and was always failing at some new exercise program. She’d chosen not to bother with the strands of gray that were popping up in her thick crop of brunette hair. She looked like a real woman in a city of mannequins.
“Sit down,” I said, handing her the report on No Glove, No Love. “Pretend we’re going over this.”
“Oh God, this can’t be good,” she said, and she was right. Quickly and quietly, I told her what had happened in Sonja’s office.
“This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Cameron got into a little downloading trouble. My ex and I are splitting the fine, but it’s not cheap.”
“I thought you took Cameron’s computer away from him?”
“We did. He bought a new one, piece by piece. Put it together himself.” There was a little pride in her voice. “He claimed he was buying books. I mean, how can you not give a kid money when he says he’s gonna buy books?”
My cell vibrated again. My first thought was that Jeremy had decided to call me back and torture me some more. Or worse, have Skye do it. That thought made me shiver. I glanced at the number; I didn’t recognize it.
“Let me take this,” I said to Tiffany. “I’ll call around and see if there’s anything open at other studios. And don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I had no idea if everything would be fine, of course. It’s just what you said in this situation. She popped out of my office, and I looked at the screen on my cell. Eddie was calling me. I answered, thinking that maybe he’d left something at my house, though in the two weeks since our encounter, I hadn’t noticed anything.
“Hey, Matt. It’s Eddie. I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Uh-huh.” I had a sense of where this was going, so I told him, “I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to see you again.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Which was beginning to seem like the theme of the day. “My feelings are hurt,” Eddie said. “I thought we had something.”
“It was great,” I said truthfully. “It’s just...money’s a little tight.”
“We don’t have to worry about that, okay?”
Was he offering me credit or… “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Oh, wow.” I was taken completely by surprise. I toyed with the idea for a second, but there was no way I could date someone who had sex for money. “I’m really flattered. I am, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” he asked, a tinge of hurt in his voice.
“Well…” Unable to think of a reason I was willing to tell him, I said, “It just really isn’t a good idea.”
“You didn’t like me?”
“No, I did. It was good. Really good.” Then the perfect excuse popped into my head. “I’ve been through a bad breakup, and I’m not really dating.”
“All right.” His tone was sour. “If you change your mind, you have my phone number.”
I hung up and set the cell down on my desk. I stared at it like it had just bitten me. That was weird, very weird. It was about lunchtime, so I went downstairs to the cafeteria in the lobby and got a Cobb salad. The whole time I floated on air. I mean, it was flattering, incredibly flattering actually, a masseur, a sex worker, well, a prostitute when it came right down to it, wanted to date me. That meant I had to be really good in the sack, right?
I flashed on the moment during the massage when Eddie lay down on me and whispered “This is nice, isn’t it?” into my ear. I thought it was a little odd at the time, but that must have been when he started to fall for me. Wow, the guy kind of fell for me.
My sexual self-esteem went right through the roof, which was just the ego boost I needed after finding out my ex was already getting re-married, re-partnered, whatever he was doing only a year after our breakup. Back in my office, I took two bites of my salad and pulled out my cell. I picked Peter out of my contact list and called him.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said when he picked up. “You remember Eddie, the masseur?”
“You mean Eddie the masseur about whom you cruelly refused to give me any details? Yes, I vaguely recall.”
“He called me and asked me for a date.”
“Hold on a second,” he said, and I could hear him getting up to close the door to his office. “All right, now we can talk. My assistant listens to every conversation I have. I’d fire her, but I think she’s already got too much dirt on me. So, where were we?”
“Eddie called and asked for a date.”
“A free date? Not just another two hundred dollar happy end?” Peter said skeptically.
“A hundred and forty. Plus tip. And yes, he said free.”
“When? Is it an actual date or just sex?”
“I’m not going out with him. I didn’t say yes.”
He gasped. “Are you crazy? Free sex from a hustler -- and you’re turning it down?”
“He’s not a hustler. He’s a masseur.”
“Potato, patahto. Listen, darling, you’re over-thinking this. It’s just sex. Go for it.” When I didn’t respond, he took an exasperated breath and continued, “Let me explain this in away you’ll understand. What do you do for a living?”
I sighed. Sometimes Peter could be exasperating. “You know
